


Apricity

by AureliaAstralis



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, BAMF Bilbo, Bilba Baggins, F/M, Female Bilbo, Oblivious Bilbo, Role Reversal, Warrior Bilbo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 23:35:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AureliaAstralis/pseuds/AureliaAstralis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>apricity: (n.) the warmth of the sun in winter</p><p>She is Bilba Baggins of the Blue Mountains, survivor and warrior, and she will find a way to kill the cold-drake that took her home. She does not need assistance from the race of Men, too greedy and selfish to see past the walls of their homes and hearth. She does not need the Elves, content to take shelter in their forests protected by magic and willfully ignorant of the darkness spreading across Middle Earth. </p><p>And she certainly does not need the help of thirteen prideful, rock-headed, arrogant, persistent, willful.... Blessed Mother, save her from the stubbornness of Dwarves! </p><p>fem!Bilbo/Thorin | AU, role-reversal, sort-of-reincarnation (maybe).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I - V: Of History

**I.**

The tale of Aule’s children is not one that is well known amongst historians and scriveners and scholars, be they Men or Elves or Hobbits. Being a largely insular and isolated race, there was very little known about Dwarven history, even amongst the Elven realms or within the ancient writings of Men. But what is known is common knowledge, at least to those to care to know of it.

In the early days of the First Age, the children of stone prospered in their alliances with the Firstborn, until greed and vengeance turned friendships into bitter, brittle bonds broken by conflict and battle. The Second Age was marked by the Seven Rings of Power, gifted to the seven Dwarven clans, corrupted not by Sauron’s dark influence but by personal greed, which would lead each clan to ruin during the Third Age.

It would take the quest to reclaim Erebor, led by Thorin Oakenshield, to rebuild and restore the honor and power of the Dwarven clans, whose resistance of Rhunland and Brownland invaders prevented the darkness of Mordor from spreading further west during the War of the Ring. The Fourth Age saw an end to the isolationist nature of the stone children, and alliances between Men and Dwarves flourished and prospered as the Elves left Middle Earth for Valinor.

But this tale is merely _a_ history, not _the_ history of Aule’s children; and it is by no means the only one.

* * *

**II.**

In another world, a world where Aule perished at the hands of Sauron and Melkor prior to the Dark Lord’s imprisonment, the dominion of Dwarves was both strong and steady. The Seven Fathers of Dwarves, witnessing their Maker’s demise at the hands of the Dark Lord, vowed to never fall to the darkness of evil, and as a result destroyed the seven Rings of Power gifted to the clans by Sauron.

Encouraged by their vows against evil, the Dwarves joined with the armies of Men and Elves in the Last Alliance, driving back orcs and goblins after the fall of Sauron at the hands of Isildur. And so it was, that the Dwarves entered and lived in the Third Age with prosperity and pride, their great kingdoms nestled east of the Misty Mountains.

* * *

**III.**

Across Middle Earth, nearly a century after the race of Hobbits settled in a place in the West called the Shire, it was a completely different story.

It started with Sauron’s Long Winter, driving snow and frost across the lands of Eriador and Rohan; but while Rohan had Gondor to call upon for help, no such assistance came for Eriador as its lands fell into the Days of Dearth. Plagued by famine and storms, the effects of the winter persisted well past the spring melts, lasting until what all hobbits came to know as the Fell Winter.

The Fell Winter was neither as harsh nor as cold as its predecessor, its grasp only reaching as far as the northwestern parts of Middle Earth, but it wasn’t the cold that caused fear, but rather, what the cold brought with it. Because when the Brandywine River froze, bringing the white wolves of Forodwaith to the Shire, it brought another beast -- a fell beast, thought only to exist in legend and myth.

It brought to the Shire a cold-drake, and with it the Eternal Winter.

* * *

**IV.**

Eira the White, she was called, for her scales were pale as snow and hard as ice. Mists and fogs and blizzards and snow storms were birthed from her breath alone, covering the once green hills with a cover of blank whiteness.

It was easy enough at first to hide away, pretend as if the dragon would leave on its own time, but when the spring melts showed no signs of coming closer, it was then that the Horn-call of Buckland was sounded -- but by then, it was too late.

Eira had settled over the Shire, blocking the sun with her fog and driving back the Rangers of the North that had come to help the Hobbits. There were few who were wise, wise enough to see the truth, but many insisted that the worst would soon be over and the spring would come.

The Exodus of the Shire saw only half of the Shire fleeing from the effects of Eira, escorted to the Blue Mountains in the West by the Rangers. The rest remained behind, only to starve in their smials as the cold-drake was content to lay upon the hills and revel in her frozen tundra. The Shire would be renamed Rhewynion by its survivors, becoming known to Men as the Frozen Hills of Eriador.

* * *

**V.**

Overrun by strife and fear following the Fell Winter by Eira the White, the race of Hobbits became hardened out of necessity, survivors dwelling in the Blue Mountains. There, they lived, driving away the orcs and goblins coming to scavenge in the wake of Eira's destruction, and they waited. And waited. And waited.

Until one ladyhobbit got tired of waiting. 

Nearly thirty years after the arrival of Eira the White, a battle-hardened Bilba Baggins left her little cave in the Blue Mountains, intent on seeking aid in her quest to slay the dragon and turn Rhewynion into the Shire once more.

This is where our tale begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. This happened. 
> 
> Oops?


	2. VI - X: Of Hobbits

** VI.  **

In a cave, high up in the Blue Mountains, there lived a hobbit. It was not a wet, dirty, nasty cave, but neither was it particularly comfortable, at least according to what Hobbits were used to. But it was dry, with plenty of sand to cushion the stone floors and if it was a little bare -- well, no fault could really be found in its owner. Bilba Baggins had done the best she could with what little she had after fleeing her childhood home of Bag-End in the wake of the dragon’s arrival. 

There was her fire pit, dreadfully bare in comparison to her mother’s kitchen, but she had her little skillet and a pot and a kettle, which she cleaned carefully and placed in a row in front of the fire after each meal. Crude wooden bowls and utensils, carved of her own hand, were handled with a bit more carelessness, as they were quick to wear and quick to replace. A pile of furs, old clothes, and shredded tree bark sat against a corner of the small cave, a nest of memories and dreams, and a small dip in the rock near her cave entrance served as her washbasin -- for there was never any shortage of rain or snow in these parts, not with Eira around. 

And finally, a single book, the journal of her mother’s travels, was hidden carefully under the sand of her nest, wrapped in cloth to protect the fragile pages from moisture and mold.

It was small, and it was bare, and it didn’t come even close to Bag-End -- but it was all Bilba had. 

* * *

** VII.  **

Perhaps it was fortunate that her mother was a Took, and an adventurer at that -- for out of all the Hobbit clans of the Shire, only the larger clans of the Tooks and the Brandybucks, and some smaller families like Gamgees, Cottons, Proudfeet, and Fairbairns left their Hobbit holes to take refuge in the mountains. 

The rest, including her father’s family, remained stubbornly in their homes to wait out the spring that would never come. The Rangers and what was left of the Hobbit Bounders ventured into the proverbial dragon’s lair twice more, trying to convince those left behind to escape, but these ventures proved fruitless -- and after Eira nearly caught her intruders the second time, none were brave enough to try again anytime soon. 

When they did try months later,  it was too late -- there was nobody left, only the snow-covered remains of Hobbit holes long destroyed and great gouges in the hills.

* * *

** VIII. **

In reality, it wasn’t the loss of his family that drove Bungo Baggins into what would be his deathbed, nor was it the first months of hardship that nearly killed what remained of the Hobbits in the Blue Mountains. Rather, Bilba always thought privately to herself that it was the loss of Bag-End, the home her father had built with his own two hands for her mother, that started it all, and what happened after only added to the straw that broke the donkey’s back. 

She and her father would watch, day after day, as Belladonna Took set out before sunrise and returned well after sunset, sometimes bearing rabbits, sometimes bearing wild onions, and sometimes nothing at all. And each day her mother’s eyes would grow dimmer, her smile smaller, until there was naught but grimness in the face of one who had once laughed and loved freely. It broke poor Bungo’s heart to see his beloved Belladonna turn from his fierce adventuress into a shell of the Hobbit she once was, and one day, when sunset came and went, the news of Belladonna’s death at the hands of orcs came with it. The Bounders only recovered two things: her mother’s Rohrric broadsword and her wedding band. 

Bungo died not nearly a week later. 

* * *

** IX.  **

Bilba buried her parents at the foot of the Blue Mountains, as close to the Shire as she dared, where rock turned to soil and where flowers bloomed. There were no lilies, no carnations, no chrysanthemums, not with the winter raging, and so Bilba gathered rocks, piling them as high as she could reach. 

She visited them again and again, each time she descended down from the mountains to train with the Rangers, each time an expedition to Rhewynion was planned. Her parents’ grave remained unchanged, the tiny rock pile covered in snow and near-unnoticeable were it not for a withered traveling tree standing nearby, while Bilba herself grew harder, grew grimmer, grew wearier as months turned into years and years turned into decades. 

Her childhood self wouldn’t recognize the battle-hardened, world-weary survivor of her adulthood, swathed in ragged pelts and worn deerskins. Even in her wildest imaginations, there would have been no bow nor quiver slung across her chest, no staff in her hand, no sword slung across her hip, no mismatched knives hidden in her sleeves or boots. Her pockets wouldn’t be filled with flints and sun-baked waybread and healing salves from the Rangers.

There would’ve, should’ve been a clean tunic and a fresh cloak, a nice ribbon to tie back her curls, and a short but sturdy walking stick with carvings that matched the embroidery on her daypack. There would’ve been Elves and campfires and songs, and most importantly, her parents would’ve been there to welcome her home. 

But there was no use in what-ifs or could’ve-beens. Bilba knew this, and tossed away her childhood fantasies long ago. 

* * *

** X.  **

They couldn't rely on the Rangers for help forever, and grateful as Bilba was, she could see the strain in the faces of the Big Folk each time the Hobbits called upon them for assistance. She was tired of waiting, waiting for the dragon to leave, waiting for the Bounders to come back with good news, waiting for something better than cold nights and homesickness. 

She talked with Fortinbras, who was Thain only in name and not in power, about reaching out to others, but he shook his head. It was a far cry from the foolish, mischievous fauntling that stole Farmer Maggot’s mushrooms years ago, but Bilba hadn't been the only one who had lost family. 

“They won’t help us, Bilba,” he said solemnly, his eyes hard as he sharpened his knives in the glowing embers of the dying fire. He glanced at the dark lumps huddled against the walls of the Took Cave, his eyes trailing across what remained of his family. “They didn’t help us before, and they won’t help us now.” 

She swallowed. “I have to try.”

Bilba knew, in her heart, that even if she did manage to find help, there was a huge chance that it might make no difference at all. But Fortinbras held her gaze before nodding with resignation. 

Two days later, she was on the back of a pony, traveling north to the nearest great kingdom -- the Grey Havens of Mithlond, home of the Noldorin and Sindarin Elves and its master, Lord Círdan the Shipwright. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So no dwarves just yet, but they will come. I promise!


	3. XI - XV: Mithlond

** XI.  **

Her journey to the Grey Havens was almost leisurely when she compared it to her daily routines in the Blue Mountains. Bilba spent her days pushing her pony to a brisk trot, wary of orcs and goblins, but even when she tempted fate by making camp in an open, grassy knoll, there was nothing. 

Peace was all nice and good, but she hadn’t had a leisurely day since fleeing the Shire thirty years earlier. There was an itch in her spine, a niggling feeling that made her hands reach for her knives at every whisper of the leaves or skitter of pebbles she heard. At night, she would lay awake for hours after sundown, clutching her sword and trying to see enemies in the darkness. 

By the time Bilba reached Mithlond, she was wound as tight as a bowstring, refusing the offer for a bath or a meal before being led to see Círdan. 

* * *

**XII.**  

Bilba wanted to hit something -- preferably the silver-haired elf in front of her.

“Unlike our brethren in Rivendell, Lorien, and Mirkwood, we have no great warriors.” The Elf-Lord spoke calmly, sweeping through his study nonchalantly as Bilba stood there in disbelief. “Our defenses are few, as we rely on our magic to protect our borders from evil.” 

“So you will leave us to suffer in the wake of the dragon?” Bilba said incredulously. “You offered no help to us thirty years ago; we were unable to even cross over the Blue Mountains to seek your aid because of your magic!”

“We could not open our borders for fear of the dragon seeking our treasure; your entry into our lands was already a risk, but we protected your journey here at the request of the Dunedain.” He turned to face her, his beautiful face blank. “I am sorry your travel has been in vain, but you are welcome to rest and recover for as long as you wish.” 

Even at this revelation, the tension in her spine lingered in the face of the Elf-Lord’s rejection. Bilba could only watch numbly as Círdan turned as she was led away. 

* * *

** XIII.  **

When Bilba requested sea passage to the realm of Gondor, the Elf-Lord was quick to deny her. “Our ships take the Firstborn to Valinor,” he said mildly, but Bilba could hear the frosty undercurrent in his tone. “What ships do travel south are vessels meant for trade, not passage. We have neither the resources nor the space to accommodate passengers.” 

Bilba simply nodded and smiled in acquiescence, taking her leave as Círdan watched her with narrowed eyes. 

On the morning of her scheduled departure, the Elf-maid attending to Bilba opened the door to her room only to find it empty. By the time the Elves discovered the Shire pony still in the stables, the trading vessel named _Eärendil_ was already long gone from port -- carrying an additional passenger of the hobbit variety. 

* * *

**XIV.**  

Bilba knew she’d be discovered sooner or later, but she was pleasantly surprised to find that they were nearly halfway to the port of Dol Amroth when she was rather roughly pulled out of her hiding place in the ship’s storage area. 

“We must turn back,” the elf that found her hissed to the captain, who was looking at Bilba with a frown. “We were supposed to make sure she didn’t manage to sneak onto the ship!”

The captain turned towards the other elf, his frown deepening as he said, “Our goods will rot by the time we make the trip back and forth, Tarnoth.” 

“No need to turn back on my account,” Bilba said calmly, drawing twin looks of incredulity. “I was meaning to make my way to Minas Tirith anyways, this was just more convenient than traveling along the coast.” 

“Lord Círdan was explicit in his instructions...” tried Tarnoth again, but the ship’s captain cut him off abruptly.

“You will work for your passage,” he told Bilba curtly.

“Of course,” Bilba said promptly, somewhat offended. She was a ladyhobbit of the Shire for Mother’s sake, not some honorless vagabond -- despite what her clothing might suggest.

“Good.” The captain looked her over critically, before asking, “Can you swim?” 

Bilba paled. 

* * *

** XV.  **

When the _Eärendil_ entered port, Bilba stood on the deck, side by side with the captain who had become her friend. It had taken a mere two months to reach Gondor with the magic of Mithlond built into the ship, and it would’ve taken longer had Alumen not deftly outmaneuvered a number of Corsair pirate ships once they had neared Dol Amroth. 

Bilba was suitably impressed, but not nearly enough to forgive the captain for his efforts to teach her to swim, regardless of his success. (Tying a rope around her waist and pushing her off the ship was _not_ teaching, no matter what Alumen said, _thank you very much_.) 

“This is where I leave you,” he said softly, Bilba nearly missing his words as the chaos and bustle of the port overwhelmed her ears. 

She turned to him, looking up at the Elf who had become her friend, and laid a hand on his arm gratefully. “Thank you for not turning me away, Master Alumen.” 

Alumen knelt down gracefully, and drew Bilba into an embrace. “May the wind carry you on swift wings, Mistress Baggins.”

Bilba drew back, smiling. “And may the light of Eärendil guide you home.”

They parted, and Bilba started her descent down the gangplank. When she stepped foot on land, she looked back to give the Elf one last wave, which he returned before she turned away. 

He watched until she disappeared into the crowded port. “Stay safe, _mellon nín_ ,” Alumen whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually, Dwarves are a little ways off... by my calculations, about 4-5 chapters off. We still have the kingdoms of Men and a few more Elven realms to go before Erebor!


	4. XVI - XX: Dol Amroth

**XVI.**

Dol Amroth was larger than Bilba had ever imagined. It was nothing like Minas Tirith, where the levels were easy to navigate, nor was it like Edoras, where the royal household sat on a hill. She wandered through the port, dodging carts heaped with fish and Men hauling nets filled with the strangest creatures she’d ever seen, but even when she tried asking for directions she was brushed off with a look of barely concealed disgust.

She had been mistaken in thinking that all Men were as good and helpful as the Dunedain Rangers. Here, all the Men seemed to concern themselves with was whether one had the coin to pay -- and Bilba had none, for she had no use for gold in the mountains. She could see that in their eyes, she was little more than a beggar child, and it rankled her.

She was beginning to find doubt in her earlier faith. She hadn’t expected much from the Elves, but she had thought Men were more kind than these selfish creatures.

* * *

**XVII.**

By the time the sky began to darken, it had felt like she had walked in circles all afternoon, with nothing to show for it. Giving up on the port, she wandered through the maze of streets until she found herself on beach, sand lit golden with light of dusk.

Wandering along the length of the beach, she marveled at the warmth of the sand between her toes, and the heat of the sun against her face. It had been a long time since she had felt anything warm under her feet, anything that wasn’t snow or wood, stone or rocky soil, and it reminded her of... of...

_‘... of **home**.’_

Bilba forced down the little sob rising in her chest, a snarl on her lips. There was no place for her longing here, not after decades of holding it in and years of fruitless wait. Resolve and determination were all she could afford to hold in her hardened heart, bound with the gossamer threads of hope and faith.

It wasn’t long until she found a little cave, clean save for clumps of tangled seaweed, with the ocean water barely reaching the mouth of the opening. Wrapped in her cloak she lay down in the damp sand, a bonfire of driftwood burning merrily beside her.

Bilba rolled over just enough to watch the sunset for a heartbeat, then two, before she looked away. There would be time to admire it another day, in another place, and she closed her eyes.

* * *

**XVIII.**

She awoke to the sound of shouts and the feeling of water slapping her cheeks.

“There was a light, Papa, I swear it!”

“Finduilas, we’ve searched--”

Bilba gasped as water rushed over her head, choking as her body tried to inhale the water that she had breathed in. A thunderous wave swept her off her side, leaving her at the mercy of swirling black water and hundreds of tiny bubbles popping against her skin. Fighting against the current, the weight of her clothing and weapons dragged her down, the undertow of the tides pushing her beneath the churning surface of the water.

She thrashed against the pull of the current, desperately trying to fight her way to the surface, when a wave rose under her and she exploded out of the foamy water with a great breath, her hands somehow finding a grip on a craggy stalagmite.

“Help me!” Her waterlogged voice was quickly drowned out by the water. ** _“Please!”_**

“Papa, look! There!”

“The rope, Imrahil, hurry!”

There was a sudden brightness, the change in light too much for Bilba’s sensitive eyes, and she had to turn away. She heard the sound of something hitting the water moments before she felt the end of the rope slip across her chest, and she used what was left of her strength to hold on as she was pulled out of the quickly-submerging cove.

 _‘Like a fish being reeled in,’_ she thought, faintly feeling hands pulling her up and out of the water before she succumbed to blackness.

* * *

**XIX.**

This time, Bilba woke to the smell of freshly laundered linens and the sound of humming.

“Oh, you’re awake!” Bilba cringed at the sudden noise, so close to her sensitive ears, and opened her eyes to meet the curious gazes of two young girl.

“How are you feeling?” one girl asked politely, almost stiffly--Bilba wasn’t used to seeing Men that weren’t... well, men, but the two looked like sisters. If she had to guess, they were just between ten and fourteen years old.

“I’m fine, thank you, milady,” Bilba replied, inclining her head gratefully. She’d be daft not to notice the quality of their clothing, dyed rich colours and threaded with lustrous beads, and the embroidery in the older girl’s lap definitely made with silver thread.

“My name is Finduilas, miss, and this is my older sister Ivirniel,” the younger girl piped up, and Bilba couldn’t help but smile at the toothy grin aimed towards her.

“Who, and what are you?”

“Fin!” Ivirniel hissed, shooting a glare at the younger girl. “Don’t be rude--”

“She’s even smaller than you, Ivi, with ears like the elves and feet bigger than our heads! I just want to know, that’s all!” Finduilas scowled. “Why, you were just saying--”

“Yes, while she was asleep mind you! It’s impolite to say it like that when she’s here--”

“Well I don’t see why you’re always nitpicking about manners and politeness, it’s so much easier to just say what you mean! Papa says honesty is a virtue you know--”

“That’s not what he meant and you know it, Fin!”

Bilba couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled from her lips, the two girls reminding her of two cousins of hers, a Took and a Brandybuck pair that squabbled like small children even at their current ages. But even then, it had been a long time since she’d seen them argue with the same free innocence that these two girls carried.

She pushed down the homesickness again, gaining both girls’ attention as she said, “My name is Bilba Baggins of the Blue Mountains, and I am a hobbit, Lady Finduilas. It is lovely to meet both of you."

* * *

**XX.**

“By the Valar.” The man sat back with a heavy sigh, studying her with curious grey eyes. “Forgive my rudeness, but I had thought that the Halfling race died out years ago.”

“There are few of us left, Prince Adrahil, living in the caves in the Blue Mountains... but we are not gone quite yet.” Bilba smiled tightly, standing before the ruler of Dol Amroth. “However, I must thank you for rescuing me from the ocean waves, milord. I am embarrassed to say that after nearly two months at sea I did not think about the tides at all.” Her cheeks burned as she managed to sink into a wobbly curtsey, but the Prince simply smiled.

“I am simply glad you are alright, Mistress Baggins,” Adrahil inclined his head in recognition of Bilba’s gratitude, “Although it is my youngest who you should thank--she had seen light of your campfire from the castle, and worried.”

“I am forever in her debt.” Bilba chuckled at the memory of the girl’s bright smile. “Though I must admit, I did not expect to meet any royalty on my journey to Minas Tirith.”

“Minas Tirith, you say?” Adrahil frowned, studying her for mere moments before his mouth settled into a grim line. “Do you seek aid for your people? I am afraid Ecthelion is not the most generous of men.”

“I was sent to request assistance in driving away the cold-drake from the Shine,” Bilba corrected. At Adrahil’s puzzled look, she clarified, “Eira the White plagues Rhewynion, what was once fertile land and the homes of hobbits--we seek to take back what is ours.”

Adrahil regarded her solemnly in silence. “I would gladly send my men to help you, Mistress Baggins, if it were not for the Corsairs plundering Gondor’s shores. And as loathe as I am to admit, I believe the Steward will refuse you as well.”

“You cannot spare any men?” Bilba asked incredulously, the bitterness against the Mithlond Elves and the Men she met earlier in the day bubbling up and driving her next words. “Between Dol Amroth, Erech, Pelargir, and Minas Tirith, there is not a single man free to help us? Or do you refuse simply because you are not honorable enough to help a dying race? Do you not believe us worthy of--?”

“I will not have you question Gondor’s honor!” Adrahil interrupted angrily, towering over Bilba as he stood up abruptly. “I sympathize with you, and I am emphathetic to your troubles, but it is _not_ a matter of worth, Mistress Baggins. Rather, it is a matter of importance in the greater scheme of things!"

“Then _enlighten me_ , my lord!” Bilba retorted sharply, the last shreds of her manners falling away as her hands curled into fists at her sides. “What is so much more important that you cannot spare a single man to help us fight the dragon?”

“What is important, is that Gondor is Middle Earth’s first line of defense against the evils of Mordor, and the ruthlessness of the Corsairs and the Haradrim.” He strode forward and knelt down, staring eye to eye with Bilba. “The burden we bear is one only we are willing to carry, our of necessity and need, and for you to ask us to do more than what we have done, what we are doing...” 

Adrahil shook his head with a sigh, standing up as he looked down at Bilba in pity and remorse. “... I am sorry, Mistress Baggins--but Gondor cannot help you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I was planning and researching the next parts of the story, and I have to admit--there's a lot more I'll be writing than I originally thought... :/ Hope you enjoyed this segment! Next up -- the journey to Edoras, with a surprise companion :)


End file.
